


Just one month

by MissTantabis



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Smutt, Thriller, sort off
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-09-27 22:59:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10055753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissTantabis/pseuds/MissTantabis
Summary: When Percival Graves is captured by Gellert Grindelwald, he knows that his demise will await him sooner or later. While he tries to make the best out of the situation, the captive and his captor actually learn a lot about each other. Still Graves knows that his time runs short...





	1. Ready or not, here I come

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mados_GravesBarebone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mados_GravesBarebone/gifts).



> This fanfiction was inspired by an rp I have with @macusa-directorofmagicalsecurity/Dolores_GravesBarebone on Tumblr/Ao3. This story thus is in some way a gift and tribute to them and their amazing portrayal of Percival Graves.

The house was laying in a valley. It nestled itself against the oaks, whose branches hang deep. The forest circled around it like a pack of guard dogs, their mossy branches wet from rain and fog. Their roots and twigs groaned, making heavy paw steps whenever someone moved. They were guarding the shag, whose walls were dirty from rain. Its windows dark like broken eyes.

There was a move at the slope. Pushing branches aside a pack of intruders slowly climbed down the hill. Their steps were silent, they ducked themselves down like cats, trying to become invisible with the ground. Every now and then the entire group would freeze, expecting some terrible fate crashing down upon them. When it did not occur, they kept moving forwards, before they spread in a half circle before the house.

In the centre of the group stood an imposing man with a handsome, yet serious face. He wore a heavy, dark blue cloak, a woollen scarf tightly wrapped around him. His hair was black and the long strands perfectly combed upon the head. His brown eyes were directed at the door and he stared at it with such an intensity as if he hoped he could see straight through the wood.

“Wands out”, Percival Graves breathed. The Director of Magical Security slowly flicked his wrist and his wand slipped into his hand, an elegant, black piece of wood with a small pearl at its end. From the corner of his eyes he could see the other Aurors get out their wands as well. He heard them breath quietly. His own breath was perfectly controlled. If he was afraid, he did not show it.

And they had a clear reason to be afraid. Graves and his men were hunting down one of the most darkest and maddest wizards of this century. Gellert Grindelwald. The name alone was enough to strike terror into the hearts of the bravest man. He was the leader of some mad revolution and his actions threatened wizards and Muggles alike. He had to be put down. And if fate was on their side, tonight would be the night everything would end.

“Lumos Parum”, breathed Graves and his wand conjured up a very, very small light. It could not even be called a light. It looked more like a smoke grenade, thin and feeble. Yet it would give them just enough light so they could see enough. “Do you think he knows we are there?”, asked one of the Aurors, a young man with a rat-like face. “Mr. Night”, responded Graves quietly, “Calm down. Even if he knew we are there, we are prepared.”

Slowly and cautiously the Auror squad tiptoed towards the door. Percival placed a hand on the wood and pushed it open as gentle as possible. Smooth darkness greeted them. The Director raised his wand arm to use the light and get a better look. It seemed they were in some storage hall. A waste and seemingly empty room. Graves squinted his eyes. He thought he could see the quivering shadows of a staircase. A few boxes. However their lights were still too limited to get a good overview.

Graves and his colleagues slowly moved into the hall. Their eyes scanned the place, looking for any sign of movement, anything that might betray where their victim was. But the one they hunted was cunning. They could not hear or see anything. Graves furrowed his brows.  _ You want to play hide and seek with us, Grindelwald. Fine. _

Percival gave three of the men a sign with his hand and slowly nodded his head. The group split. Three Aurors went in the direction of the hall, while Graves and his remaining two colleagues went to the staircase. The wood groaned under his step. The Director flinched. He threw a look at them and pressed a finger on his lips. “Tried to step as quietly as you can”, his lips barely moved when he said those words.

The Director began to climb up the staircase. He kept his wand in front of him, moving his hands a few inches to get a look of his surroundings. Only dust and cobwebs. A few dark drops on the wood. Graves knelt down to examine these closer. Was it blood? In the dizzy light it was hard to tell. He reached forwards and dipped forefinger and middle finger into the substance. Pulling the sticky liquid up, he sniffed. It probably was blood. Was someone held captive in here?

The scream cut through the air like a dagger of sound. Graves shot upwards at once. It had come from downstairs and he even had recognised the voice. “Mr. Night”, he breathed. Without wasting any time the Director apparated as he leaped over the staircase’s balustrade.

He reappeared one a few feet away from where the other one had screamed.  _ Goodness, no!  _ His eyes widened. Graves rushed over to the Auror. Mr. Night was entrapped by something odd, black and shivering. It trapped his arms and legs, cut into his neck. The Auror tossed on the floor, helplessly, crying and tried his utmost to free himself. His colleagues were throwing spells at the odd substance but nothing seemed to work.

“Relashio!”, shouted Graves and flicked his wand. The spell flew through the air and raced into the substance, however it went through it with no effect. _What kind of dark magic is that?_ Graves felt the panic rise in his chest. This was a spell he did not know, a spell he had never seen before. He knelt down besides Mr. Night and tried to pull off whatever had taken a hold of him. 

But his fingers went through it and he flinched, gritting his teeth. A cold feeling of numbness had entered his arm as if he had dipped it into ice water. Mr. Night’s screams had turned hoarse by now, his face was blue and the eyes rolled uncontrolled in their caves. His struggles had become less desperate, however his head kept twisting and shivering. He reared up one last time and with a blood curling scream he fell on the floor, motionless.

Graves stared down upon the other man. His face was twisted and deformed in his struggle for air, for life. The Director furrowed his brows. His eyes darted around.  _ You’ll pay for this, Grindelwald. _ “Where are you, you dog?!”, called Graves and sprang to his feet, “I know, you are here! Come out! Or are you nothing more then an assassin?” He wanted to make the other one angry in the hopes he would at least show himself.

The other Aurors immediately gathered around their Director, forming a circle, wands at ready. Graves slowly began to turn around in circles. His teeth were gritted and his eyes flashed. The pupils darted around. He held his wand above his head, using the light to see as far as he could. Where was this bloody coward? Where was this man that murdered an Auror? Where was this monster that killed men, women and children without a second thought?

“Come out!”, called Graves one more time. He kept turning around in the hopes of covering the entire room. The fact that Grindelwald had killed someone downstairs said nothing! Nothing! He could be on the same floor or above. Maybe he was hiding behind a few boxes or near a column or under the staircase. _You are probably laughing your head of while you keep us all your dumb, dumb sheep._

The next spell came as sudden as the first one. While the one that had killed Mr. Night had been as black as ink, this one was as bright as the sun. It crashed down upon the entire group with an immense force, carrying a blinding heat. Percival shouted and threw not only a shield up, but also himself behind the next box.

The heat smoked his hair and he could hear people scream. The spell had been so bright he feared he would go blind for a couple of seconds. Smoke filled the air, the smell of burning flesh. It made the Director’s stomach twist. When the intense spell had died down, Graves slowly peeked around his box, noticing that two more of his Aurors were killed. Three down, three still standing.

_ That is enough! I won’t have you kill any more members of my team! _ Percival threw up his wand and shouted: “Lumos Maxima!” Out of his wand shot a blue orb, which hung in mid-air, drowning the room in bright light. He was done with this hide and seek game. If Grindelwald liked the darkness so much, maybe light itself would drag him out.

“Up there!”, Mrs Florence, the only female Auror in his squad, pointed at a figure on the staircase. She immediately began to fire a series of spells and was joined by Graves instantly. Grindelwald angrily waved his wand and threw up a shield. It was like melted glass, dark golden. The spells exploded like tiny stars.

The other one’s face disformed into an angry grimace as he threw up another spell. It was a big, electrifying beam. Mrs Florence’s eyes widened before she threw up a spell of her own to avoid getting hit. Graves could see the shield tremble under the pressure it was put under, however he knew that Florence was one of the best members of his team, almost as good as Porpentina Goldstein and thus he knew she was hard to break.

Percival was about to throw another charm at Grindelwald when he suddenly noticed that the dark wizard was in fact casting a second spell straight behind Florence. Out of the shadows grew green, thorny spikes, which were aiming for the Auror’s neck.  _ Oh no, you don’t! _ “Protego!”, shouted Graves and with a flick of his wand casted a shield, which shot up between Florence and the ranks, blocking them effectively.

Florence gasped when she saw the ranks shatter. Her look found Graves. The Director’s brows were furrowed in anger and his lips formed a thin line. Panting the younger woman gave him a short nod, her way of saying thanks, and Graves directed his gaze back at Grindelwald just in time to see him throw another curse, poisonous green this time.

They could hear another yelp and saw the Auror, who had stood besides Grave’s left, falling. He had been hit by the killing curse. Percival looked at Florence. Her red locks were signed and her face covered in trails of ash. He too could feel holes in his cloak and had a bloody gash on his face at the cheek. Dust on lips and in his eyebrows.

Florence’s eyes widened all of a sudden and without a warning she threw herself against Percival. Graves shouted in shock when he saw a new spell (which probably had been meant for him) hit her instead. It took her off her feet and send her spinning through the air. When Florence slammed against the nearest wall, Percival could see a large wound in her stomach. Blood darkened her uniform and her eyes were blank.

_ You...you monster! _ The shock on Graves’ face was replaced with cold fury and hatred. One standing, five fallen. His Aurors had known they were facing a dangerous man, but they had not expected to face a monster. For only a monster would use such vicious spells and kill in such inhumane ways. War wasn’t pretty and Graves would make sure that Grindelwald’s ending would not be pretty either.

His whole body ached, especially the shoulders and hips. He could feel blood tickle down his forehead. Graves bared his teeth as he stood up. Grindelwald was slowly coming downstairs, in a self-assured, calm sauntering way. He already took this bottle for won.  _ Won! I show you won! _ Graves pushed himself up and angrily took a step forwards.

He took a deep breath. Swinging his arm, Graves threw one last, massive spell at Grindelwald. He was not even sure what he had casted. Sometimes magic reacted on impulse and emotions. But whatever Percival was sending in Grindelwald’s way, he hoped it would let him die in the most agonising way possible. He wanted him to suffer as much as all the Aurors he had killed in this room.

Grindelwald jerked his head around. His eyes flashed at the spell that came rushing towards him. His wand shot upwards and a spell of equal size and force raced out of it. Both spells collided in mid-air. Graves felt dust fly around and the ground shook. He angrily stood there, one arm outstretched, and held his ground. He would not falter. He would not allow the other one to win.

The hand, which held his wand, was steady. Graves’ eyes were narrowed as he tried to catch a look upon his enemy, though he failed. The light of both spells was too strong. He knew what this situation was. And he knew what determined the outcome: The will of the caster. 

The two spells hissed and bristled as they wrestled for supremacy. Sparks flew around. Some landed on the floor, some on Graves’ clothes and face, extinguishing like little stars. The Director panted. He dug his feet into the floor to keep balance. However he could feel how Grindelwald’s spell hungrily ate up his own.

_ No! No, no, no! _ Graves knew that he had lost the fight as the spell came closer and closer. The Director shut his eyes, placed an arm over his face, while he made a jerking move with his wand, breaking the spell apart. The explosion that followed sent him flying, shook through his entire body as if he was a leaf in the wind.

Pain shot through his back as Graves hit the floor with a low thud. He curled himself up into a ball to avoid hurting himself too much. Steps came closer to him. And when the man looked up, bruised and broken, blood on lips and cheek, skin covered in ash, he stood face to face with the most wanted man of the magical community.

Gellert Grindelwald was a man of forty-five years roughly. He had short, pale blond hair, which was spiky upon his head. His eyes underneath pale eyebrows glittered in sick amusement. One of them was blue like sky in winter, the other one as dark as ink. He had a small moustache on his lips, which now curled into a nasty, satisfied smile as he stated: “You wanted to see me, Percival Graves. Here I am.”


	2. No bending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Percival proves to be a tougher prisoner then expected...

Graves did not know how long he had been out cold. Maybe merely seconds, maybe hours, maybe days. His body was aching when he finally stirred. His flesh burned and felt feverish from the fight he had been put under. Were the wounds infected? His head pounded and his vision swam. Percival coughed.  _ Open your eyes, Percival Graves! Get up! _

It hurt immensely to open his eyes. Graves panted. He stared into the darkness. His breath, ragged and hoarse, sounded very loud. Where was he? The Director apparently was slumped in the corner of some room. His legs ached, especially the knees, and when Percival tried to get up, he tripped and almost fell over. Fire rushed through his side and wrists.

His hands were bound behind his back. Graves groaned. The fingers felt numb and the rope cut deeply into his flesh. The skin tingled awfully. The Director carefully tried to reposition himself when he heard the creaking of a door. His head shut up and he squinted his eyes as a lantern was held up.

Now he could properly see. He was in a cellar. Not just in any cellar, but the cellar of his own house! There was the old cupboard, his parents had given to him when he had first moved out; the one, which had a shrieking door. There was the clock, which went ten minutes backwards and had stopped moving its fingers around twenty years ago. Old chairs and clothes, hanging over them. Dust and cobwebs in the air.  _ Bastard! _

Percival was not scared of what could come now. He knew the risks his job brought him. Dieing for the country. It was the unspoken vow every Auror made. While they vowed to protect the innocent, they all knew that there always was a chance that they would not return from a mission. Death was a partner in their work. A partner, none of them liked, but a partner, they all had to accept.

Graves pushed himself up against the wall as much as his bonding allowed him. He still cowered before his captor, which dug in his pride. Graves would not give Grindelwald the pleasure to see him afraid or broken. He would fight till the very end. If his opponent believed he had caught an easy prey, he had to think again. You were not the Director of Magical Security and Seraphina Picquery’s right-hand man if you were not competent at your job.

“So you have finally woken up”, Grindelwald stated. He placed the lantern down a few inches before him. The dark wizard stood there, arms crossed. “Welcome back to the world. I appologice for you have gotten yourself a one-way ticket with no return.” Graves was unimpressed by the mockery. He simply sat there and glared at the other one.

Should he answer? Why not? After all, there was not much he could do right now anyway. “I am not scared of you, Grindelwald”, responded Graves sharply, “And you should not be too sure of this situation. People will notice that my squad is dead! They will send other troops to search for me. And even if I were to die here, Picquery will have another Auror to fill my shoes. He will bring the justice upon, which I could not.”

The blond haired man slowly shook his head. His two coloured eyes closed. He sighed as if talking with a child. “Oh, Graves, Graves, Graves”, he mused, “What is that for a welcome? Immediately declaring war on me. Shouldn’t you be happy that I was so generous to keep you alive?” Graves made a growling sound, grinding his teeth.  _ That you dare to call yourself generous after you murdered my people. _ In his mind he saw their moments of death over and over again. Their faces, turning white, mouths deforming into screams, eyes wide and rolling in their caves. Florence, Mr. Night, all the others...they would haunt him forever. The fact that he could not save one left him feel guilty. He had failed in his responsibility as their leader. They had come into that storehouse, expecting a fight they had hoped themselves to be prepared for. Instead they had run into a massacre.

“There is _nothing_ generous about your action”, responded Graves sharply, “You murdered a group of my best Aurors.” He lowered his head and sucked in the air through his teeth. _Stay calm._ While he hated the other one’s guts, he would not fall into insults so easily. He was not a brute. He was a trained Auror. He knew what he had to do in a situation like this. He was prepared! Nothing the other one would throw at him could shock him. Or so he believed.

Graves looked up at Grindelwald again. “Quit the sweet-talking, Grindelwald”, he replied, “Why are you here?” There was a mocking huff from the other one’s side. He reached into his cloak and drew out his wand. It was an oddly beautiful looking one. Dark elder wood, forming small knots along its line. Each knot was full of symbols and pretty circles and lines upon it.

“ Getting straight to business, aren’t we?”, replied Grindelwald, “How typical. I heard you take pride in your work. Seems like I was right.” Graves gave no reply.  _ Get to the point! _ , he thought, lips forming a straight line,  _ I could just talk to myself or with the wall over there. The result would be the same. _

“ Well”, continued Gellert and slowly traced his fingers over his wand, almost as if he could not wait to cast whatever agonising spell he had come up with, “It seems we are of the same vibe then. I do have a few questions for you. I’d be glad if you answer them.” Graves merely swallowed and steeled his mind and body for what was about to come. Now it would begin.  _ Don’t break, don’t bend, don’t surrender. _ He repeated the words like a prayer as if they were a specific set of rules.

“ What can you tell me about your relationship with Credence Barebone and Seraphina Picquery? What plans did you have in regards of my capture? Whom are you working with? Which countries try to capture me?” Gellert locked eyes with him and waited. Graves knew the other one was a good Legimentor and thus by instinct he shielded his mind with flexible thoughts that could make attacks bounce off, reflect them.

Graves looked dead serious into the face of his captor and responded: “My name is Percival Graves. I am the Director of Magical Security and my number is 3427a.” It was something he had hammered into the heads of his Aurors. If you get captured, the only thing you tell the enemy is your name, your profession and the number you have in the Auror department.

Gellert flicked his wand. A curse, white as dead skin, rushed out of it and hit Percival in the chest. Pain exploded almost instantly. It was as if someone electrified him, tore him to shreds, ripped him apart. His breath fought in his lungs, his heart raced in his chest like a caged bird. Still Graves gritted his teeth and shut his eyes. He would not give Grindelwald the pleasure to see him scream, even though his muscles jumped and a scream exploded in the inside of his organs. His enemy would have to do more then just a Cruciatus curse.

Graves did not know how long he had to endure the spell. Maybe it were just a few minutes, though these felt like eternity. Grindelwald slowly lowered his wand and the Director gasped as he released his breath, which he did not know he had been holding. His muscles jumped, sweat ran down his forehead and his eyes were lit with the pain he had endured in silence. He wheezed and panted. Graves chuckled a throaty laugh. “Try again”, he breathed, “You do not break me so easily, Grindelwald.”

His eyes found the other one and he thought he saw something glimmer in his eyes. Maybe sick pleasure. Whatever. His captor clearly had proven he was out of his mind. Grindelwald replied: “You should not say something like this when your capture has hardly started.” Graves furrowed his brows. “I doubt I will stay in here for long. Picquery will notice that I am gone sooner or later.”

Grindelwald began to smirk at these words. “I would not make that bet”, he breathed. Graves rose a brow. What was the other one talking about? Grindelwald stood up. He brushed over the sleeves of his cloak. “You have a rather nice coat, do you know that?”, he asked carelessly, “I think it fits me rather well.”

Graves’ eyes widened when he saw the other one lean forwards again. But now his hair had changed. It was black, his eyes were dark and his face was smooth and handsome. Graves was looking at himself. Grindelwald even had the same speech pattern as he said: “After all I am you now.”

o0o

The days shuffled by, each one felt like the same. Time became a blur. The only way Graves could measure it (at least he thought he could) was by the fact that Grindelwald visited him every morning and evening before he went to work. It made Percival gag in frustration. He could not believe that no one could see the difference between himself and his imposter.

Had he not prepared his Aurors enough? Had he failed in his duty? It seemed so. And it was very depressing. Every time Grindelwald visited him, Graves dreaded bad news. Would the other one kill Picquery? But surely Seraphina would notice that she was fooled, wouldn’t she? She was a smart woman after all, had a quick mind and precise thinking. She was a strategist like Percival, maybe even more. She was doing her utmost to protect her nation from the danger. And she did not know the danger was in her own lines! Sometimes when Graves could not stand it any longer and he was sure he was alone, he would scream in frustration and insult Grindelwald. If there only was a way he could do something!

But he could not. He was stuck in his own cellar, day after day, week after week. Nothing changed at all. It drained him. The fact alone that he could not do anything. And Graves had already tried basically everything to get out. After a while however he had given up training and just tried to keep his mind sane. He would scratch a line on an old notebook in the hopes to keep track of time. He would count the cobwebs and spiders. He ended up staring at things on the table and tried to mesmerise them. It were all small pointless things but they were all he could do. And they were better then doing nothing at all.

Grindelwald came and asked him questions almost every time. He either appeared in the glamour, which made him look like Graves just to mock him, or he was the blond haired man himself. “What are the Ministries doing to find him?” “Are there spies in my lines?” “Who works for you?” “Do you know what is damaging New York?” “What can you tell me about so-and-so?”

In the first few days and weeks Graves would either answer with silence, a lie or a simple no. He endured the Cruciatus curse, cuttings, beatings, kicks, slaps and all the other sick ideas the other one came up with to torture him. He shielded his mind from everything, protecting the information, which Picquery had entrusted him with. She trusted him with her life. He would not disappoint her. He would not let Grindelwald get what he wanted so easy.

After a few weeks and days Graves found his tactic a bit boring and decided to answer every question with a counter question: “Where do you hide yourself from others?” “Is it true that you own the elderwand?” “Belongs this and that person to your Fanatics?” “Do you even call them Fanatics yourself?” “Why did you attack this town?” “Why did you murder Mr. So-and-so?” It sometimes happened that they threw questions at each other for about twenty minutes or more, before Grindelwald silenced him with a smack, a curse or a kick.

But Graves did not care. He kept telling himself that. He does not care what happens with him. If he does not give in, Grindelwald will not win. He had to keep telling himself those things for otherwise the feeling of helplessness and uselessness would overwhelm him. He did not want to admit that he was scared. Especially since he did not know what he feared so much. His own death? Failure? War approaching? Whatever it was, it was dark, dangerous and it had no name.

o0o

“You are mine now, do you understand?!” Graves’ eyes flickered open. He had been trying to get some sleep the last few hours since Grindelwald had cut open his cheek and he also was having a gash over his forehead. His arms too felt feverish. His stomach rebelled over the lack of food. His throat was dry. Was he shaking? Maybe. It was such a new feeling. He was not used to being afraid and feel so drained.

Grindelwald had pinned him against the wall and his fingers clawed themselves into his cheek, forcing him to look at the man that wore his face like a second mask. The nails scratched over the wounds, which hurt and stung, more blood oozing out. Somehow the fury in the other one’s voice lit up a small fire in Graves.

The bruised Director furrowed his brows and coughed: “You...you may have my l-life, my a-aspect, but you will never have  _ me _ , Mr. Grindelwald. My heart, my mind...my soul, they’ll  _ never _ be  _ yours _ !” He saw the other one’s eyes flash in surprise at these words. Maybe he found Graves’ bravery amusing. Whatever it was, Gellert let go of him. Percival slumped back against the wall, gasping for air.

Grindelwald laughed quietly. He slowly crossed his arms and tilted his head. His fingers touched each other in the particular pose Graves used to have when he interrogated criminals. It was eerie to see him mimic the Director so well. He must have had years to perfect that skill. Even his voice and speech pattern sounded almost identical. However the words that left his mouth were something Graves would never say. It was this aspect that saved Percival’s mind from not going off the rails entirely: Knowing that the doppelgänger before him was Grindelwald.

“My dear Percival”, Grindelwald spoke slowly as if talking to a child, “you have _no idea_ how good I am at breaking people’s minds.” The Director let out a hoarse laugh. “Well”, he snarled, “Good luck with trying to break mine. You can hurt me all you want. Torture me. Tear me apart. It won’t change a thing.” He rose his head and there was pride in his eyes. “I still live”, he whispered, “I am not down yet. And you won’t be able to break me. I will never ever be yours.”

Gellert shifted his weight. Percival waited, readying himself for any danger that might come. What would be used this time? The Cruciatus Curse? That knife? That slicing spell? These three seemed to be something Grindelwald’s favourites for he used them or alterations of them a lot. Gellert slowly took out his wand again.

He explained: “Did you know that the Cruciatus curse can be applied to parts of the body specifically? Only fools believe it afflicts pain everywhere.” He stepped forwards. Graves inhaled slowly. He knew what would happen next: Grindelwald would demonstrate what he had said. Thus he would concentrate himself to direct his mind away from the pain.

Grindelwald was not using the elderwand for this spell but Percival’s own wand. Thus the spell was not as strong as it probably could be. The white curse hit him in the stomach. Immediately an awful feeling spread there: It was as if someone had taken hot iron hooks and dug them into his flesh to tear his guts out. And while it was agonizing, Graves concentrated himself and tried to locate the fever of his being somewhere else. The fingertips.

And while his vision seemed to dim, he could still easily see Grindelwald’s face. Calm, collected and the lips a thine line. If he was frustrated, he did not show it. Graves’ spine was on fire by now, but he still refused to scream. When Gellert finally lowered his wand, Percival gasped for air. He tried to catch his breath as if it could whip away the pain in his flesh.

Gellert slowly stored the wand away. His eyes glimmered as he eyed Graves up and down. Was there a hint of respect in his eyes? “Picquery knew her job”, he mused, “You really are made out of steel.” Graves snorted. “Are you sweet-talking me now, Grindelwald?”, he mocked weakly, “What’s next? Flowers and a dinner?”

The other one shook his head with a laugh, amused by the director’s antics. “If I were to sweet talk you, you would not notice it”, Grindelwald responded with Graves’ voice, “And if I were to bring you flowers, I’d only do it to hide a Devil’s Snare in them, that would strangle you.” He brushed over Percival’s cloak. “Well”, the dark wizard stated, “I must be off. I am sure, Picquery will need my advice soon again.” Graves called after him as he left: “Don’t force yourself to anything! I’ll be just here, waiting for the flowers and that dinner.”

 


	3. Gabriel Grimmwood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Graves is visited by a stranger, or isn't he?

Graves did not know how long he had slept. Probably only a few hours. There was not much to do in this cellar so sleeping was one of his best bets. Grindelwald tired him out whenever he interrogated him and thus Percival cherished the moments of silence and peace when he was spared. They were rare but they were important for him. They allowed him to gather his strength, they helped him to recover. Percival was sure: Without these moments he would have died.

The door creaked and footsteps moved down. Graves groaned and opened his eyes. He hissed as he pressed himself on his knees and pushed himself up to sit normally. Only now did he realise that the footsteps were lighter. This was not Gellert Grindelwald. Or was it? His eyes narrowed in mistrust as he gazed upon the figure, which stopped a few inches before him.

It was a boy compared to him and Grindelwald. Graves guessed him on twenty-five years old. He had long, curly, gold brown hair and a smooth, angelike face. His skin was pale, yet from a certain angel of Graves’ head it had a soft bronze tan. He wore a long, black cloak, made out of silk and leather. He held a basket in his hand.

It had to be Grindelwald. Graves furrowed his brows and waited. The boy had a look of gentle surprise on his face. “Are you Percival Graves?”, he asked and placed the basket down. Opening it, the Director spotted cans of beans and meat. “Do you prefer your cans warm or cold?”, he inquired.

“No, I am Mr. Fuck You!”, snarled Graves harshly and rolled his eyes, “I doubt, you care how I am going to have these cans. Warm or cold. It does not matter.” He crossed his arms and tried to not look at the stranger. He did not care that he was harsh. He was strained, he was tied up, he was hungry, thirsty. He had every reason to be unfriendly towards this boy. It may be a bit unfair towards him, but fate had not been fair to Graves either. 

Aside from that there was the lingering doubt that this could be a trick. A sick game the other one decided to play upon him. It would make sense. Percival had learned one thing in these few weeks: He had to be ready for  _ anything _ when it came to Grindelwald. His tormentor did not follow such a clear pattern and it was this that made him highly dangerous.

The boy huffed. “Hissy fit pretty much?”, he asked. His voice differed from Grindelwald’s. There was less of his age, a sweeter tone and melodie in his voice. In general it sounded more soothing, calm but also mischievous. Like a fox, which told the raven sweet words to grab his cheese and run off.

He pulled out a wand and Graves paid great attention to it. It was not the elderwand, nor was it his wand. It was an oddly twisted thing. Not even a branch. Just a thorny piece of bark, somehow turned and shaped into something that resembled a wand. Green and red spikes. However this wand’s owner was, it was not whom he believed it to be.

The young man opened the cans and tapped his wand against them, muttering a spell to warm them up. “Though I cannot blame you”, he admitted, “Grindelwald can be an awful man. Even for his own man-of-business.” He crunched down and handed Graves the can. “Here. You must be hungry.”

Graves looked down at the can in mistrust. Could it be that the other one had poisoned it to kill him? And what about this boy? Was he Grindelwald, trying to mock him? Or somebody else entirely? There was no way Graves could tell for sure. And he knew he had to find this out fast. For now Graves would pretend the other one was someone else. In case he actually was somebody else.

Percival carefully placed the can down. Food could wait for now. He bopped his head as he gazed at the other one. A strained smile plugged at his lips. “So, you are the good one, eh?”, he asked, “How do No-Majs call it? Ah, right. The good cop. The one that comes and helps the prisoner. Gives them a moment of peace and balsam for their tormented souls. Well, if your boss told you anything about me, you know you will have a hard time here.” A weak chuckle escaped his lips.

“Suppose so”, was the other one’s reply. He slowly shrugged his shoulders. “I am not here to interrogate you”, the boy explained, “I am merely here to take care of you.” Graves croaked a laughter and murmured dryly: “Then you can spare yourself this. The only reason Grindelwald keeps me alive is so he can torture me. For I can tell you this: I won’t reveal anything Picquery has trusted me with. I rather die.”

He rose his shoulders. His gaze was kept on the boy. The blonde wizard leaned before him, hands in his pockets. His head was lowered. He replied: “A prisoner is always somebody who is alive. You won’t die so soon.” Graves’ lips formed a straight line.  _ “A prisoner is always somebody who is alive.” _ The words resonated in his head. He knew he was bound to die. It was only a matter of time. 

What would happen when he died? Who would remember him? The only people Percival presumed would miss him were his parents. For everybody else he was a nobody. An invisible force. The second hand of Picquery, that nobody saw and knew about. He was not the type of Auror, that seeked to be in the news and have his face on the front pages. That was not his task. Seraphina Picquery was the face of MACUSA. He was merely there, aiding and advising her in the background, keeping her and everybody save. No rewards, no fame, no glory. Just the satisfaction of fulfilling his duty.

“Who are you anyway?”, asked Graves. It was time that he began to play the game in full mode. He had to learn if his opponent was a friend or a foe. If he was Grindelwald behind the youthful mask or indeed someone else. If he could get help from him. Percival was very good at reading people. It was something that was required in his job. And it was something the Director also did in his private time: Look at how people acted and behaved, trying to find the small details that would betray them.

“Gabriel Grimmwood”, the boy introduced himself, “I am Mr. Grindelwald’s man-of-business.” Graves rose his brows. “I did not know that bastard has a man-of-business.” He gazed at Gabriel, scanning his face for a reaction in regards to the insult. But the other one’s face was calm and collected. If innocence had ever been given flesh and face, Gabriel Grimmwood would be the one to wear it. “On the other hand there is not much I know about him. As a person I mean.” Graves slowly shifted himself in his bindings. The ropes cut into his flesh and he was sure his wrists showed crimson markings by now. “How come you work for him?”

Gabriel explained: “I have been five years in Gellert Grindelwald’s service. Before that time I was a picket pocket. Grindelwald took me in, because he needed somebody of my skills. Deliver letters, inform people, take orders, bring a point across. That sort of thing.” He ran through his long locks with a hand. “Grindelwald may be a terrifying person, however he can also be kind and gentle. He is towards me.”

Graves squinted his eyes. He had to push the limits. That was not yet what he wanted to happen. He had to give the other one a question that could make him uncomfortable. Something that pushed him out of his comfort zone. Maybe this would give him a better way to expose who he was. Was he even still playing or himself right now? It was hard to tell.

Percival replied slowly: “Then I suppose, you believe in his cause? I mean, a boy of your calibre surely could do better. I know that people follow him, because they are afraid or because they want power. I don’t believe in this cause of his. What is he even thinking? Changing the entire wizarding world for the Greater Good? It is the ravings of a mad man. He cannot succeed in this! He may not be the first nor the last man to try to rule the world, but nobody will ever allow him such power.”

From the way the other one tilted his head, Percival could tell that he did not like these words. Even his answer seemed to take some time to come: “Grindelwald does what he does for a reason. He is following his believes. His ideals. Isn’t this what you are doing as well? You protect the others because of the believes you have.”

Graves furrowed his brows. “What I am doing is more then just a belief”, he replied, “I am doing my job because I protect a right. The right to be free. The right to be save. That’s the reason I bring criminals to justice. To protect those that could not otherwise.” He saw the other one smile. His lips were slightly curling. “Justice”, he repeated the word slowly, “It is something that is deeply rooted inside of us. We make justice. We make the laws. The ones that are strong enough take justice. The ones that reign over those that are too weak to act upon themselves.”

_ He talks just like his master. _ Percival’s lips formed a thine line. “You talk of justice as if you know what it means”, he stated, “Do not get me wrong. I am not calling myself a saint or something. Only a fool would do that. I know the terrors the Ministries enact upon people that defy the law.” He had seen it and he had done it. Interrogating people in the most inhumane ways. How often had he signed a death sentence? Percival did not know. However since he was a man on the inside, he knew fully well how twisted the justice system of MACUSA could be. They were called heroes. And yet on some days Graves asked himself if he really was better then all the men he executed. However he then remembered people like Grindelwald and with them the reason he did what he was doing. People of his calibre had to be stopped. They were these kinds of evil, that casted a shadow on all these drug dealers, traffickers and poachers. They were a threat towards humanity.

The man-of-business rose his shoulders. He replied: “Nobody knows what it is in reality. For justice just like society is a construct we make. It is a desire deeply rooted in us. To right what has been done wrong.” Percival leaned himself against the wall. He sighed and looked at Gabriel. “Are you trying to tell me that Grindelwald is one of those people that rights what has been done wrong? I mean, I do not know him. Maybe he is insane. Maybe he had a terrible childhood. Many mafia bosses and big villains believe that they have to make the whole world pay for what one or two individuals did to them.”

He huffed. It was true what he said. Grindelwald was a mystery for Graves. He may have read all files and documents on him and yet he still did not feel any smarter. He knew the man’s ideas. He did not know the man himself. And yet he could not help it: This situation was an odd case. Nothing could have prepared him for it. The way Grindelwald acted was unpredictable. It had something fascinating, alluring to it. You could not help but watch and get sucked in.

“What are your thoughts on this?”, asked the director, “On your master I mean? Do you believe in his cause? What do you see in him? Come on, you can speak. Your master is not here right now. So quit that sweet-talking or whatever you try here.” Gabriel rose a brow. He ran his hand over his lips. He was pondering. And Percival kept staring at the other one, trying to find anything he could expose. Anything that revealed what was behind this odd situation he had been thrown in.

“People often describe Grindelwald as one of two things”, the man-of-business said and dropped his hand, “They either call him a lunatic or a genius. One side are those that are against him, the other side are his followers. I would say, he is a visionary. He dares to look at our society and asks himself what it’s good for. He rethinks things, he takes circumstances and ideas apart. I neither believe, nor disbelieve in his cause. For I could not care less about what is going on here. I am his man-of-business, I am not a Fanatic. It is not my job to be concerned about what my master does.”

“His ambition is admirable.” The words were out before Graves could stop them. “Only someone who has nothing to lose and everything to gain would be like this. I admire him as a person. However is methods are not admirable in the slightest.” He could not help it. There was a certain respect for Grindelwald’s determination and skill. Just like the other one respected him. If Graves was honest, he could not have picked a better rival for this game. They both played with precision, skill and on the highest standards. He had to admit: It was enjoyable and thrilling. This dance on the edges of death were any word, any action could be your last one.

Gabriel leaned against the wall. He tilted his head forwards. The way he crossed his arms indicated that he brooded over on how to continue this conversation. His next words surprised Graves: “People work strikingly alike. We can find ourselves in the oddest mirrors and reflections. My master respects you, Graves. However he sees beyond the normal image of the Ministry. After all you call his methods unjust, but what is it you do? You are murdering criminals with the Black Void. Is this not as cruel and vicious as Grindelwald’s deeds? You are not saints.”

“I never claimed that I am a saint”, responded Graves softly, “Nor do I say that MACUSA is nicer then what he does. But we have the law on our side. He does not.” He himself had sent many people to their deaths and he knew fully well what the Black Void could do. It was a pond of a pitch-black, aching substance, in which people drowned and got eaten alive. They claimed that the way it reflected memories made this dieing an easy method. Yet Graves knew that they were only telling lies to calm their subconsciousness.

However the first words made him ponder. If Graves was honest with himself, then he had to admit: There was a certain truth in Gabriel’s words. People often had a mirror to their own personality. It so rarely happened that you met such mirror. And Percival could not deny it: Grindelwald was his mirror. They were alike in so many ways it was eerie.

The ropes around his ankles and wrists began to hurt. Percival grinded his teeth. He tried to shift his weight but his legs had fallen asleep. Groaning, he gazed at Gabriel. “Did Grindelwald not say that you were supposed to take care of me?”, he asked, “If so could you then please untie me. It’s not like I can get anywhere. Or is Grindelwald one of these kinky individuals that likes his victims being all tied up?”

Gabriel chuckled. “If that is everything.” He rose his right hand and snapped his fingers. The ropes around Graves’ ankles and wrists became what they had been once more: They turned into shadows and shivered away. “Is there anything else you need? Maybe I can make your bed?” Graves gave no reply. His head was lowered. He was smiling.

There it had been. The sign he had been waiting for. The way Gabriel had snapped his fingers had been very remarkable and distinguishable. Only one other person could snap their fingers like that. Moreover from what Graves had seen no one else could control the shadows like this. Of course it was still a fifty fifty chance. Graves looked at the boy and while massaging his wrists, stated: “No, thank you. I won’t need anything more, Gellert.”


	4. An agreement with the devil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gellert Grindelwald has never been found out. But now Percival Graves has learned of his most guarded secret. He should die for that. But Graves has a suggestion to make.

No one had ever find him out. Gellert was playing a game of chess with his enemies from the very beginning. He was playing them all. Nobody knew that the most darkest wizard of this century was in fact looking nothing older then twenty-five. His glamour spell worked perfectly and made sure that his true face was never find out. And this made him always be five steps ahead of MACUSA and the Ministries. He held the strings in his hands, forming each knot carefully, knowing what he wanted. He sketched the death of a system, but always was ready to draw in deeper colours.

No one had ever find him out. Until Percival Graves had come along. He had been a different case from the start. He was smart, he was cunning and he knew his trade. Never during the entire capture had it look like Graves did not know what he was doing. He was a challenge for Gellert, because he was so different from the other Aurors. Grindelwald welcomed it greatly. It was always good to have a fresh breeze in his trade and he had not have so much fun in a long time.

Gellert slowly began to clap his hands. He called: “Bravo. You are the first wizard that ever saw through my facade. Though I would have been a fool to expect anything less from someone as competent as you.” He slowly spread his arms and did an elegant bow like an artist, which had preformed an amazing trick at a circus. It was a mocking way of showing the hints of respect and the main fact that this was a game for Grindelwald. A very intriguing game. Gellert was like a cat that played with its food before it ate it.

Percival sighed and rolled his eyes at his performance. “It was easier then I expected”, he admitted, “You may be good when it comes to your words and facial expression, however your body language betrays you.” Gellert huffed. He knew that Graves referred to the way he had snapped his fingers. He could see that point. The shadow magic was something Gellert had developed out of old scrolls, his own talents and thoughts and many experiments. It was a magic unlike anything the Aurors had ever seen. It was more then just magic for Gellert.  _ I have been in the darkness for so long I fell in love with the shadows. _ They were his friends, they were his eyes and ears, they were his company.

Graves’ smile dropped and turned into a frown. His eyes widened as if some kind of realisation had hit him. He then lowered his head and looked away, awaiting the other one’s action. Grindelwald too considered what to do now. Graves had find him out. One of his most treasured and guarded secrets laid in the open. If the director escaped by some chance, no matter how slim it was, he was in great danger. His plans worked so well, because no one knew his real face. They all searched for a phantom.

The most logical thing would be to just kill Graves where he stood. After all Grindelwald could easily wear his glamour all over again. By now he had gotten a good hang on how the Director of Magical Security acted. However Gellert found himself to find the situation he was in now far too interesting to just let it end so soon. There was something fascinating about Percival. His smartness, his cockiness and his stubbornness. He was indeed a unique type of prisoner. And the fact that he had called him out opened an entirely new dynamic. Something Gellert wanted to explore.

The blonde wizard slowly drew out his wand. He explained: “I shall keep what you say in mind.” Gellert slowly turned the wand in his hands. “However we will have to move. I cannot let MACUSA know my most guarded secret.” Graves carefully stood up. He was a bit taller then Grindelwald and the age difference was obvious. Gellert was young and pretty looking, while the director now looked hollow, ragged and sickly. His eyes had a dull glow of worry in them. “Where are you going to take me?”, rasped Graves.

“A place you shall call home for the next month or two”, answered Grindelwald calmly, “Depending on my mood.” He saw the other one’s face eclipse. For a brief moment it seemed as though Grave’s legs would give away under him. Graves then spoke slowly and quietly as if he was weighting every word: “I know I won’t have much time left. You will get rid of me soon. But when the time comes for me to die, I’d like to ask you of something.”

Gellert’s head twitched. He looked Graves over. The man kept surprising him. His voice had not trembled and he looked quite serious. The dark wizard rose his brows. “What do you ask of me?”, he replied, his gaze locked with the brown eyes. Percival massaged his wrists again. His voice was heavy as he spoke.

“I want you to allow me to fight. A proper duel. Of course you are going to win since you have the elderwand in your possession, and I promise you, I won’t try to win. I just want to leave this life with some kind of dignity. Not begging for it or being poisoned in my sleep or tortured to death.” Graves had not taken his eyes of Grindelwald as he spoke. There was a shadow of the once powerful man he used to be in his stance.

It caused Gellert to smile when he heard this request. It was an unusual demand. Usually people begged for their lives. Grindelwald always found great joy in making them squirm and dance, following his moves and rules. They would whine, they would plead and beg, they would give promises no sane human could keep. It was always so entertaining. Gellert enjoyed playing with the few important prisoners he had like a cat with a mouse before he killed them. Thus Graves’ offer was a new dynamic entirely.

There was an odd glimmer in Grindelwald’s eyes. He gave Percival a lopsided, cocky smile. “Then I shall look forwards to the day you die.” He pointed his wand at the director. Gellert muttered a word and a spell hit Percival. Gellert watched the other one slowly beginning to shrunk down. Soon the poor man was only a few inches tall and could easily fit into Grindelwald’s hand.

Gellert bent down and picked Graves up. Holding him in one hand, his long, elegant fingers curled around him, applying mild pressure to his frame. Grindelwald smiled cockily from the knowledge of what would happen next. He opened the long, black cloak he was wearing. It was made of an odd substance like a cross between leather and silk. Its hood laid in Grindelwald’s neck.

With a careless chuckle Gellert tossed Graves inside one of the inner coat pockets (the director yelped at that movement), before he closed the cloak again. The pocket now nestled against Grindelwald’s ribcage. His body warmth wafted through the thin fabric and Graves was able to hear the growling of Gellert’s stomach, combined with the low ba-dum, ba-dum of his heartbeat. Gellert patted his cloak pocket and laughed.

It was sure that Graves would not be able to escape out of there. And he had to make sure he did not escape. For Gellert now would travel. Not in the way Muggles did. He would also not apparte for this way of transportation was controlled by the Ministries. No, he would travel in a way that only he could travel. Shadow magic had many perks. One of these perks was that Grindelwald could use them to change his location and travel long distances rather swiftly.

Gellert turned himself into a shadow. He slowly glide out of the window, moved down the wall and crossed the street. Hopping from shadow to shadow, a black, undefined, faceless and shapeless blur like swift smoke he raced through New York until he had reached the harbour. Crossing the sea took a bit more energy but Grindelwald managed it.

Finally somewhere in England Gellert found what he had been looking for. The house was laying in a factory town in England. Sheffield. Walls, blackened from smoke. Corridors narrow and thine. The gas lanterns threw drops like dirty milk on the cobblestone. The house, before which Gellert appeared, was a small store for pastries with an apartment above it. A small staircase lead to it on the outside of the wall.

Gellert melted out of the shadows in the apartment. He let out a low groan and slowly began to stretch himself, flexing his muscles from the travel. His pockets moved roughly against his sides. The dark wizard sighed and smacked his lips together. He could feel a squirming inside his pocket. Apparently Graves tried to climb out. Gellert purposefully waited a few seconds before he opened his cloak and pulled Graves roughly out of his pocket.

The director looked poor and tousled. He was pale in his face and his eyes had slightly turned inwards. In general he looked like he was about to throw up. Probably because travelling inside another one’s pocket was not a very comfortable experience. One could feel quite claustrophobic inside, having little space and feeling the other one move and his organs work clearly did not help.

Percival seemed to be dizzy for a few seconds. He rubbed over his eyes lids. Gellert watched in amusement as he caught up with his senses. Still held in the massive hand, Graves looked up and stated sharply: “The next time you travel like this put me to sleep! I feared I would throw up. Moreover get rid of that cloak. It smells like Merlin-knows-what!” His voice was a bit higher then usual and sounded slightly like a young boy.

Gellert chuckled in amusement. “Trust me”, he cooed, “If everything goes to my wishes, you won’t ever have to travel like this again.” Graves huffed and angrily rolled his eyes. “Woe me”, he remarked. Rising his shoulders he asked: “Are you not going to turn me back into my normal self? Don’t force me to talk like a creature from a cartoon. Because trust me: I will.”

Gellert curved his lips into a short, amused smile. His snicker send a gust of warm breath down upon Graves, tousling his hair. “I’d like to see that.” But to Graves’ luck Grindelwald drew out the elderwand and murmured the counter spell. Letting go of Graves he watched him return to his normal size. The director angrily flattened his tousled hair.

Gellert began to peel himself of his cloak. As he folded it, he responded: “Well, Graves. I can let my cloak be washed later on.” He slowly dropped it on the back of a chair. His lips twitched into a taunting grin. “Besides could it not be that you are smelling yourself? You are quite dirty right now. Covered in blood and sweat.”

They were standing in a small and slightly crammed up apartment. The windows were thick and milky, laying on the wall in a slightly angular manner, seeing the apartment. basically laid under the roof of the house. They stood in what seemed to be the living room. A dead fireplace, small and neglected, stood there. Before it a leather armchair. A table and two more chairs. Everything was held rather small. There were a few bookshelves, which contained several volumes. The books were all Muggle literature and legal magical books. Nothing suspicious here.

Graves leaned against one of the shelves and crossed his arms. He gazed around before he turned to Grindelwald and shrugged his shoulders. “It is not my fault you like me dirty”, he responded, “I would welcome a shower, but it seems my kidnapper prefers to see me like this. I could complain but I know there are worse things in life. For example the company of a certain  _ blondie _ .”

_ Oh, you think you are so funny, don’t you? _ Gellert’s mismatched eyes narrowed and his lips pulled in a firm line. He was not sure if he wanted to laugh or growl. There was a silent tension in the room. It was not something that would lead into a fight. It was more of a mild annoyance, compared with the anger in his stomach. Now that Graves actually knew how he looked like Grindelwald did not bother to hide his emotions. It seemed to amuse the other one for he was grinning.

For a short moment Grindelwald pondered if he should fulfil Graves his wish by summoning a rain cloud and drenching him in water. He could even make a wet blanket joke. However the blonde wizard was not in the mood. He too stood there on the other side of the room and glowered at Percival.

Gellert responded: “A shower would indeed do you some good. As much as I like all those wounds on your body, it’d be a shame if they were to get infected.” The director responded: “The wounds won’t leave if I take a shower. Besides you then will be able to get aroused by them.” His mockery was obvious. It was the nasty fight of words. The attempt to outwit the other one. It was no pleading or an attempt to flee. It was merely the ugly desire to have the last word in this conversation.

Percival added: “Also I will need new clothes. These are dirtier then this place.” He threw his gaze around. “I cannot believe how you can live here. It is disgusting! I believe this is one of your cleaner hideouts. I dare not to think in what state you left my own house. But seriously, you can clean this place up with the wave of your wand! Are you just plain lazy or what?”

The apartment. indeed was gloomy and had an air of sadness and neglect around itself. Grindelwald smiled and softly ran his fingers over the wooden walls of the shelf he leaned against. He responded: “I like the apartment. just the way it is. And don’t you worry. I left your house untouched. It is still in the same state I found it in. And what you call disgusting and dirty, I view as cosy and comfortable. Though in regards to clothing I shall see what I can do.”

He chuckled quietly at the aspect of the wounds arousing him. Percival probably had meant this as an insult and mockery. However he was not so far from the truth. Grindelwald still would see if he could find a fresh stag of clothing for his prisoner of a director. It should not be too hard.

Percival walked over to the chair. Placing his hands on the table, he lowered his head. Sucking in the air, he remarked: “If you were not such a… _ wanted _ man, I’d ask you to get us some food. I am starving and since I doubt you can cook, I shall cook us some dinner.” Gellert cocked his head and pushed himself off the wall. He gave Graves a short look and replied: “You’ll be surprised what a decent cook I actually am. But I shall see what I can find.”

“I doubt that!”, Gellert heard Percival call as he moved to the kitchen. The dark wizard rolled his eyes. He opened the fridge of his kitchen and frowned. The fridge was pretty empty. Again. Grindelwald’s gaze frowned and he hissed through gritted teeth: “An – Der – Son! Du dreckiger, kleiner Dieb.” He gathered the few remains that were in his fridge and made the mental note to make sure the fridge was filled for the next morning.

“Who’s Anderson?”, asked Percival mockingly when Grindelwald returned, “Your _lover_?” The dark wizard’s eyes rolled upwards. He shook his head. “He’s… a _friend_.” Friend was not really the right word. Todd Anderson was Gellert’s trading partner and the blonde man showed great patience towards the other one’s smug and rude behaviour. “He tends to raid the fridge when I am not here, since he has a key to the house.”

Gellert tossed bread and cheese onto the plates. “Butter’s out”, he remarked, “Do you want water or brandy with that?” A brow wandered upwards. “Does cheese go with brandy anyway?” Graves frowned and remarked: “I won’t sleep with you, but brandy is accepted.” Gellert laughed and poured them the glasses. “What do you dream of when you sleep?”

Gellert took a sip from the brandy. He furrowed his brows and gagged. “Gah”, he called and sat down, “That brandy lost its kick. How long has it been since I last was here?” Graves placed the glass down without drinking. “Why am I not even surprised?”, he called, “If it is not the  _ cheese _ , it has to be the brandy!”

“Do not worry, Graves”, Gellert remarked, “That brandy is not poisoned. It is just very, very old. Though I can see why you do not want to touch it. It tastes awful.” They feel silent as they began to eat the cheese and the bread. A cloud of dark mood and bitterness hovered over them. Grindelwald felt a certain exhaustion and tiredness. It had been a long day.

Graves murmured after a while: “I am not worried about my house. It is not important. Home is where the heart is. Home is where people are you hold close. I doubt you know the feeling or you have forgotten it long ago. Or maybe you remember it. The feeling of having someone, who brought warmth and joy into your life. The feeling of being protected. The feeling of being loved. Who am I to know?” His voice had a nostalgic tone to itself. He downed the glass of brandy and refilled it. Its bitter taste might make the situation they both were in sweeter and more bearable.

Gellert gazed at Graves. His voice was quieter when he remarked: “I know the feeling better then you realise.” It was true. Throughout his life there had been many people, who had given him the feeling Percival described. In his own home town it had been mostly through his mother Clara and less through his father Harald. Durmstrang probably would have been a lot less funny had it not been for Ivonne. And Albus Dumbledore had given him the greatest home of all. He had been the one Gellert held close to his heart. He had been his friend and so much more…

Grindelwald turned the brandy in his hand. He gazed at it. “But I also know that to love is to destroy and to be loved is to be destroyed.” They kept drinking the awfully bitter brandy. Gellert meant what he said. Nothing had been a better lesson for him then Albus’ betrayal in the combination of his upbringing. Love was destruction. It brought suffering and unhappiness. Nothing more.

“So you have loved”, Graves deducted. Gellert glowered at the director, who continued to speak: “I believe the one person you love is the only one who really has the key to destroy you. Then again, I do not know how that is. Or rather what I know is not so bitter.” 

The words summed it up so well. Yes, Gellert had loved Albus. He had cared for him. It had not been hard to see how the other one loved him back. And Grindelwald had no problems with loving back Albus. He had been like a second part of himself. The same skills and the same knowledge. They had been intellectual equals. Grindelwald’s ideas had set the other aflame. They had had such great plans. And the one incident had ruined everything!

Gellert leaned back and crossed his arms. His face hardened. “I am finished with that person”, he responded, “I hope we never meet again. For if we do, it will result in bloodshed.” The escalation between him, Aberforth and Albus had been a nightmare of curses, flashing lights, blood and death breathing in their necks. Despite being very young, Grindelwald had thrown himself into that duel with one intention: To kill if necessary. Now years later he still asked himself: if Ariana had not interfered and died, would he have pulled through?

Graves eyed the dark wizard again in an odd manner. It must be weird for him to learn that one of the darkest wizards of the century was looking like a twenty-five year old man. And yet Grindelwald was far older. “How will this night continue?”, asked the director, meaning _How will you torture me next?_.

Gellert pulled his lips into a cocky, confident and nasty smile. “I don’t want to spoil the fun”, he whispered, “You will learn it soon enough.” His eyes flared dangerously. Graves had treated upon dangerous and sensitive ground. It was time to remind me that he was still a prisoner. Gellert had a few very nasty tricks up his sleeve and he looked forwards to use them all upon Graves, making him scream and twitch. It was time to begin to sketch the director’s downfall.

 


	5. Nothing more then a monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Percival dares one attempt at escape. He has to warn Credence at all cost of the monster his captor is.

Days passed. Graves tried to avoid Gellert the best he could. Of course he had little choice. He was confined to a small room, which probably was a very poor excuse for a guest chamber. The bed he slept on was made of iron and it reminded Percival of a hospital bed. Even the blanket and the mattress smelled cold, sterile and dusty. However underneath it Graves breathed the gust of misery and despair. How many people had been in the same position like him? How many people had been locked up in this room?

It was a small room. There was a box for his clothing but that was it. There was no window. The only source of light was a gas lamp above his head. And it usually was not really working. The bed was hard and Graves hardly got any sleep. But it still was better then sleeping all tied up.

Nothing had changed in these few days. As much as Graves yearned to avoid Grindelwald, the dark wizard would visit him every now and then. He would feed him with bread and a thick, golden, very sweet jelly. Not much of this substance of course but enough to keep him alive. And Gellert did not gave him this jelly all the time. Only ever third day or something. Graves did not really like the substance. Its sweet taste was unnatural and he tried to spit it out whenever Grindelwald force-fed it to him.

And of course he kept interrogating him, wanting information. But Graves kept being as stubborn as a brick wall. He would not give away any information towards Grindelwald. If he had believed that the prospect of his soon death would change his view, the dark wizard would have to think again.

This morning Graves woke up from a better sleep. It was tiring to be on guard all the time for his body and his mind and there would be moments at night where he fell into an incredible deep sleep. Gellert left him in peace during these moments and Graves appreciated this. He needed this sleep if he wanted to make it through the day. Though there was no way to tell if the other one actually left him in peace. He was not somebody to be predictable.

This time Grindelwald had not tied him up. With a sigh Graves stretched himself. His muscles protested upon the movement. They felt like they were half asleep. The Director slowly put on his shoes. He approached the door and pushed it opened. It was unlocked to his surprise. Grindelwald allowed him to go around in the house every now and then to stretch his legs and see something that was not this small room.

Percival slowly closed the door behind himself. His room was located underneath a staircase and usually the fact that Grindelwald walked down said staircase woke him up. He assumed the other one’s sleeping quarter was just above his place, even more in the attic then the apartment already was.

 _Nobody there?_ Graves rose his brows in surprise. He stepped into the centre of the living room. Maybe Grindelwald had left. Maybe he was at MACUSA, keeping up his ‘good Director’ image. Percival hated how the other one stole his life from him. It was not the fact that Graves was out for glory in his work. Far from it. He simply felt a sting of shame for nobody seemed to be able to notice that he had been replaced. Had he failed his team this badly?

Graves shook his head. He wanted to distract himself. See the sun for a while. Maybe it would put his mind at ease. Percival approached the nearest window to look outside. There was a bottle of water standing on the window sill. He blinked. The Director picked up the bottle. What was it doing here? Maybe Grindelwald was not at MACUSA after all. But why had he left his drink unattended?

Percival gazed outside of the window. He let his gaze wander. Outside the sun was shining. It was warm. Graves missed the feeling of it on his skin. The wind in his hair. Snow. Anything of the outside world. It made him feel homesick. His look drifted around and he suddenly halted, becoming anxious. _Wait!_

There on the opposite street stood two Aurors, who gazed at the house. He recognised them. They had worked in his department. Graves’ eyes shot around and he spotted Grindelwald only inches behind them in the shadows. “No!”, he shouted, “No, no, no! Get away there, you idiots!” He hammered against the glass of the window but of course a silencing spell laid on the entire house.

Graves was left helpless as he watched how Grindelwald outmanoeuvred them. He was _playing_ with them! The first one was hit with the killing curse in the back and when the other one turned around to investigate upon the sound, a stone shot against his head from behind. Graves gasped when he saw the man fall down. Blood splattered from his smashed skull onto the cobblestone.

What had these two Aurors been doing here? They had not searched for him, this much was obvious. The tactical skill involved in this murder only made Graves more angry at Grindelwald. His stomach knitted in rage. He slowly stepped back from the window. He did not want to see outside again. He could hear the door open and Grindelwald entered his home, laughing like a mad man.

It caused Percival to spin around, glowering at the other one. He stood still near the window as he shouted: “You fucking whoreson! What the hell was that for?” Grindelwald turned his head in his direction when he was insulted. He was wearing that black cloak of his, which seemed to be a fluent intercourse of silk and leather. In his long, slender fingers he was holding two, blood covered wands. The trophy of his murder no doubt. He slowly whipped them clean on the sleeve of his cloak and made them disappear.

Gellert had not even flinched at insult thrown at him. It made Graves wonder. What else had this man be called? It should actually not be any of his business. Grindelwald’s voice was calm and collected as he spoke. The death of the two Aurors was not touching him at all. “I got rid of a few casualties. I do not like it if there are people near my house. At least not if I do not invite them as guests. Though I doubt they know you are here. In fact I doubt they will be missed. At least not in the next few weeks.”

“You are a fucking idiot!” Graves could not conceal his Irish accent this time. He always would slip partly in the language of his mother when he was angry. His mother had taught him her own accent as it was a deep rooted part in her, lacing his speech with a thick pattern; it was like carrying a home in his own language.

Grindelwald rose his brows at his speech pattern in mild surprise. Graves by now knew that Grindelwald was no native English speaker either. His speech pattern had a slight German accent, making it a bit louder, clearer and better pronounced then the English language should be. Though it was not as harsh and over pronounced as prejudices could make you assume.

“How dare you to kill them like that without even giving them a chance to protect themselves?!” Percival screamed in frustration and anger. He knew the other one was a murderer but he had no reason to attack some by-passer, which came close to his house. This concept did not want to go into Graves’ head. It just refused to do so. And Graves now used the time to basically shout his lungs out and let his frustration and anger by known.

“They obviously were not coming for me but that gives you _no right_ to kill people like that! Are you bloody crazy?! Do you have no care or regards for others? These people have families! I knew them from my work. One of them was about to become a father!” His eyes flared. “You are such a bloody bastard!” Tears swam in his vision and he angrily blinked them away. _Murder. Monster!_ He could not forgive him for what he had done to Florence and the others and now Grindelwald’s second murder had made everything worse.

Gellert’s gaze was cold and harsh. He responded: “That’s how I work, Graves. Should you not know that by now? Remember, I choked Mr. Night with his own shadow before your very eyes. You cannot expect me to be a fair fighter. I know that MACUSA and the Ministry want me dead. They claim they want to give me a trail, but let’s face it. They only want to have me executed. Well, guess what: I rather kill you first before you have any chance to harm me.”

Graves let out a sharp, bellowing, humourless laughter. “That’s how you work?”, he repeated, “So you are nothing more then a murder. Tell me, Mr. Smartass, why would they be here? You know as much as I do that I am not on the Missing People List thanks to you impersonating me. So I can doubt they came for me. I also doubt that they know this is your hideout. So to put it short: I don’t give a damn if you are pissing your pants, but you don’t kill my men for nothing!”

Grindelwald furrowed his brows. Eyeing his nails, he explained: “They were following me or rather you. I could not let them get close to the house. Das verstehst du doch sicher. Ich muss ein paar Vorsichtsmaßnahmen treffen. Und Mord ist eine der effektivesten Methoden. Vor allen Dingen an einem Ort, wo du ein Niemand bist.”

A shrug of his shoulders. The calm speech continued: “They are strangers here, who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. And now they are a pair of weeds. Who knows, maybe a boy will stomp them to the ground with his foot while he plays catch?” A quiet laughter emitted from his throat.

A roll of his eyes, followed by a groan. “Woe me!”, Grindelwald called, theatrically, “How cruel and twisted fate can be! Well, newsflash: This is a war! People die in here. Some deaths are justified but most are not. I once saw a muggle die in the Great War because he was holding a teapot in his hands. So yeah, the boy will grow up without his father. Such a great loss. Get the woman a handkerchief so she can cry her poor eyes out. Would you have prepared it if I sent the dead bodies to them? Würde dich das glücklicher machen?”

The longer Graves listened to these words, the more he felt like he was listening to a lost and angry child. He was above making an argument out of such a fuss. However that did not mean he would not let his critique shine through. Graves was a very sarcastic and sometimes even rude person. He had quickly noticed that Grindelwald did not appreciate his sarcasm. Something he now frequently turned into a weapon.

“It is amusing”, Percival stated, “I will not lie, it is _amusing_ to see you like this. Do you know what you look like right now? You resemble a kid, not a rebellion leader. You are a kid that tries to upset his father by breaking things he cares about. This is not a war, Gellert. This is you trying to scare MACUSA and the Ministry of Magic into thinking you are more powerful then you are by killing two Aurors that just happened to cross the sideway. But of course, your oh so brilliant mind did not consider this!” His voice sounded bitter and angry and of course mockery laced it.

Percival slowly shook his head. “You bore me”, he stated, “I thought you were somebody smart. But after this argumentation…” Maybe Grindelwald was somebody who had an unstable mind. It would explain this totally illogical argument. Or simple the fact that the other one was too full of himself. “One more thing”, Graves remarked as he stepped up to Grindelwald, “Don’t forget to hold the wife’s hands and give them a handkerchief when they report people as lost since that’s part of my job as well, which means it is your job now too. Of course you will laugh at their suffering. But then what do you know about pain anyway?” And he moved past Grindelwald and back to his room.

***

Gellert glowered at Percival as he left. The dark wizard did not comment on his actions. What Graves deemed as childish was merely a moment where Grindelwald’s mind had clouded for a couple of seconds and he had acted more on instinct and on the teachings of his father. Sometimes a senseless act of violence produced the right type of message.

Gellert hated that the other one had called him a boy. However lashing out now would only make things worse. It would be like confirming what the other one already believed. It would be like giving in. And Grindelwald refused to give Percival that. He had a certain sense of pride in him. Though he rather called it confidence then pride. Some people might assume that confidence was too nice of a word. On occasions he could become outright cocky.

 _Though maybe since you believe I have such a messed up mind, maybe I can mess with your mind for a while!_ Grindelwald curled his lips in anger and disgust. How much he wanted to tear the other one apart right now! Make him kneel, make him beg and scream as blood flooded out of his eyes, ears, nose and mouth!

However he would save such violent measures for later. For now Gellert merely rose his wand and directed it at Graves’ room. He slowly began to whisper a few words. A simple incantation. A spell, which laid itself like a second layer over the room, changing it into something pleasant, something Percival was comfortable with. It would cloud his mind and then Grindelwald could ruin everything.

It happened as he was casting the illusion. All of a sudden his body shook, his stomach rebelled and the eyes rolled in their caves as if they wanted to turn inwards. _What? Not now!_ Gellert uttered a cuss. However he was helpless when the Sight seized him and shook him through. His eyes rolled inwards and the legs gave away. With a heavy thud Grindelwald fell on the floor as the cramps became stronger and stronger. His real eyesight blackened and his inner eyes forced themselves upon him. The vision overpowered him.

Grindelwald found himself in an alleyway. The dull noises of New York’s streets reached his ear. His eyes rested upon a lanky, slender boy with dark hair, who covered between a few boxes. The boy’s skin was pale, he sniffled and his lips quivered. The warm, brown eyes swam in tears. When they found Grindelwald, hope lit up inside of them.

“Mr. Graves”, the boy’s voice was high, weak and feeble; it trembled as much as the meek, little frame, “Please, help me!” Gellert came closer and bent down. Kneeling before the boy, he whispered: “Hush, Credence. Calm yourself. I am here. What’s the matter, dear boy?” His hand softly rubbed over the boy’s shoulder.

“Please, help me!” Credence sounded like a wounded dog. He leaned against Gellert’s shoulder. “Please. I do not know how much longer…” The dark wizard looked into the crying and sad face. So weak and vulnerable. So exploited and exposed. As if someone had stripped him of his clothes, of any support. No, Credence Barebone never had had any support.

“Find the child, Credence”, Gellert demanded urgently, “The sooner you do it, the better.” Yet the boy kept whining! It was such a sorry sight. And dear God, it was annoying! Gellert felt the air suck through his teeth. He could not bear this sight. It was straining his nerves!

His hand shot through the air and he slapped Credence across the face. It was not a very vicious smack, just enough contact with pure skin so that the radiating pain made Credence snap back into his senses. Thorn out of his crying fit, the brown eyes, glimmering in tears, directed themselves back towards him and he had Credence’s full attention.

“Listen, Credence”, Gellert explained and his voice softened. He rose a hand and cupped the boy’s cheek, whipping his tear away, “The sooner you will find the child, the sooner you will be released of all the pain and misery that plagued you. It will no longer matter. And you will truly be loved.” Gellert softly kissed Credence’s forehead and helped him on his feet. “Now dry your eyes”, he insisted, “I will be asking you again after a few days. Until then try to hold on.”

His vision slowly returned and his body came back to his senses. He laid on the floor. Every fibre of his being ached. His chest hurt when he tried to breath. Gellert groaned and slowly came to his feet. He was still a bit staggering. Out of the corner of his eyes, he spotted a fleeting move. The next thing he knew was Graves, who crashed against him. Gellert yelped as he was slammed against the next wall. Pain exploded in his head and he gritted his teeth. Slowly turning his head, the mismatched eyes glowered at Graves, who seemed beyond furious.

“ _ **What?!**_ ”

“ _YOU FUCKING BASTARD!_ ” Graves swung his fist towards Gellert’s face, hitting him on his nose with a clear hearable knock. “ _STAY AWAY FROM HIM!_ ” A second blow on his nose, causing him to cough up blood. Gellert yelped and stared at Percival in confusion, tilting his head. It seemed to make the other one even more angry. He panted and bared his teeth. The brown eyes were alive with rage. Grindelwald had never seen the director like that.

“Oh, you do not know, do you?” Graves seized him by his blond hair and furiously bashed his head against the wall. “I will rip your bones out of your skin if you ever touch him again! You sick bastard!” More blows and punches followed. Gellert yelped and groaned, twisted himself in a fruitless attempt to protect himself. Still he could already feel the first few bruises on his arms and chest. Finally Percival let go and stormed out of the house.

***

Percival was beyond furious. When he had entered his room, he had immediately got the fact that he was faced with an illusion. And since it was something pleasant he had decided to enjoy it. Not after mockingly murmur “Is that all you can come up with?” The illusion had allowed him to walk through several areas where he had been throughout his life. He had seen his parents, he had seen his friends at Ilvermorny and he had seen several Aurors he had worked with, including Florence.

However the situation had changed when he had seen Credence. The first half of the conversation had felt normal and natural. But when he had slapped Credence across his face, Graves realised that this was not a part of his memory. Apparently Grindelwald was using his aspect to meet Credence. He was doing something with the boy. What Percival could not tell. But it did not matter. What mattered was the fact that the poor boy was in danger.

Credence usually did not tie himself to another individual. For in his job any ties, whether they were love or friendship, could become dangerous. Everyday could be your last. Ties were cruel. Both for him and the one he was tied to. And yet, once he had found Credence, he had felt the strong desire to protect the poor boy at all costs. He had seen the terrors his mother but him under and Graves wanted nothing more then to get Credence out of this hell. He would kill for that boy if it meant Credence was safe. Maybe it was parental love. Whatever it was, it urged him to reach Credence as fast as possible.

It was the first time he was outside. Luckily for him he still had remained his haircut and was somewhat shaved. Only his clothes were a bit shabby and dirty but they could wait. Time was of the essence! Who knew how long Grindelwald would remain unconscious from this beating? He had to reach the boy first. Graves gathered the last remains of his strength he had inside of him and disaparated.

He reappeared in an alley near the church. His stomach rebelled and his legs felt like they would give away. _Focus, Graves. You can worry about your body condition later._ Graves gathered his breath and walked out of the alley. He found Credence, standing before the church. His heart skipped a beat and he hurried up. “Boy!”, he called, causing Credence to spin around in alarm. He staggered back, startled.

“Mr. Graves…” Credence avoided eye contact. He fixated the other one’s shoes. “I have been searching for the child.” Graves had to force himself not to frown. So that bastard was indeed using the boy. “That’s all very well”, Percival remarked evasively, “Listen, there is something else I have to tell you.” He locked eyes with Credence. “The man I warned you about is getting closer.”

He could not say more. Charity Barebone called out for her brother and in a fleeting move Credence hurried towards his sister. Graves slowly dropped his arm. He exhaled slowly, praying that the young Barebone would take his words to heart. Now all he had to do was get to MACUSA and report what had occurred.

***

His head hurt when he woke it. It pounded viciously as if a horse had kicked him. His vision was a blur. Gellert groaned and coughed. Pushing himself half up, he wheezed and spat blood into his hand. His hair was wet and he could feel blood on his lips and running down his forehead. His chest and arms felt sore. Percival had not been timid in this beating.

“ _STAY AWAY FROM HIM!” “I will rip the bones out of your skin if you ever touch him again!”_ Grindelwald’s pants began to change as his lips twitched into a smile. It soon turned into a wheezing laughter, which only was interrupted by a few groans as the dark wizard got on his feet. He quickly began to heal his wounds, touching his forehead and lips, casting a warm healing spell upon himself, the prickling feeling soothing the nerves. Graves was gone.

But, oh, what a fool he had been! Just one small mistake. The man, who had been able to conceal his emotions from the start, had lost all control over himself. Gellert already had guessed that Graves and Credence knew each other for he had found several files in his office, which showed that the Director of Magical Security looked out after the boy. This was too good to be true. Grindelwald had found a gold mine!

The Director of Magical Security claimed that he loved nobody, that in his work he had no time for love. But he cared for Credence Barebone. He loved the boy. It clearly was a parental love but that did not matter for Grindelwald. It only mattered that the care was there. Gellert only knew one thing about love, and that was that it was the most destructive force of nature you could think of. And Grindelwald would be just that. He would destroy Graves’ love for Credence! He would crush the love, dry him out, make him bleed, make him feel worried, sick and sad. Graves wanted a sick bastard. Gellert would carry the hell to Graves’ doorsteps and paint him an image so gruesome and vivid he should never be rid of it!

Guessing that the other one was going to MACUSA, Gellert turned himself into a shadow and made his way to America. Finding Graves was almost too easy. His prey was walking down a narrow alleyway, heading for MACUSA’s main building. You could not apparate into it. The alleyway was clouded in shadows and the sounds of cars from the main street was deafening. This was child’s play!

Gellert rematerialised behind Graves. He slowly placed a hand on the shadows along the wall. The dark wizard closed his eyes and began to mutter his spell. Tendrils and ropes grew out of the darkness. They shot at Graves and clawed themselves into his clothing, wrapped themselves around his arms and legs, covered his mouth in black cobwebs. They dragged the struggling man back to Grindelwald, who seized him by the shoulder and disapparted.

Gellert had tied Graves up from the ceiling of his house. Tied up in the shadows the Director was more humiliated then the beginning of a torture. And yet Gellert stood before Graves, brows furrowed. His look could make blood run cold. He was angry, however he remained calm and collected. He had a triumph card now and he would play it. His gaze held no mercy, instead there was the sick pleasure of hidden knowledge in his gaze.

Graves looked devastated and shocked but also angry with himself. He knew he had made a mistake, a great one. And he was already picturing all the consequences his action could bring. His lips quivered and he breathed, pleaded: “Don’t hurt him. Please!”

“My, my”, breathed Gellert, “What a sweet surprise. You do care for somebody.” He clasped his hands together. When he began to move them apart, a hologram appeared above his palm. It was Credence Barebone, whose feet graced the skin of Gellert’s hand. With a calm, coy smile Grindelwald showed Graves the illusion.

Percival closed his eyes, not wanting to look at the illusion Grindelwald showed him. He slowly turned his face away. “Yes, I do care”, he responded, “I am not a robot, you know. I am not a machine. Of course I care for someone. I care for many actually.” Graves’ eyes glowed balefully as he continued: “And you know that! _YOU KILLED THEM AFTER ALL!_ ”

Gellert immediately knew what Percival was referring too. His fallen Auror team. From the rage in the Director’s face it was clear that he held this team close. Closer then a group of colleagues. Were they his friends? Or belonged these firey feelings, this hatred only to a certain individual?

Grindelwald’s voice was as sweet as sugar and very gentle. “Yes, I have been working with Credence Barebone”, whispered Gellert, “Poor, little child. Neglected in such a cruel world. I have been trying to help him the best I can. Though I must say: The pre-established relationship you have with Credence is very useful for me. The boy melts in my hands. But be assured: I only have his well-being and best interest in my heart. The Wizarding Community failed him so very much.”

Graves began to shake his head. “Helping him?”, he repeated in disbelief and mockery, “You? Helping anybody? Good one.” A brief, quivering laugh. “You actually made me laugh.” Gellert replied with earnest: “I am not joking. I am really trying to help the boy. He is a prime example of what victims of the President’s rule are like. If Madam Picquery were not so ignorant and you actually engaged with the Muggles, this would not have happened. The boy already suffered enough.”

The illusion was quivering in his hand. Gellert softly ran his fingers along the edges of it as if it were a human being. “However” – his face eclipsed and his tone became threatening – “I might let something bad happen to him if you try something stupid again. And he might not even know who causes the pain.” He poked at the illusion and Credence began to bleed out of his side, flinching. He cowered in Gellert’s palm, hands over his head.

“You ask me to give you a proper duel when you die”, breathed Gellert, “Usually I am a man of my word. So be warned: Defy me in any way again and Credence will pay the price!” Grindelwald closed his fingers around the hologram and thus shattered Credence.

Percival slowly inhaled. “I am not a fool, Grindelwald”, he responded, “I know whom I am talking to. I made a mistake, yes. Do I regret it? In parts. I know you keep your word, you always do, so here is mine: I won’t try to escape again. I won’t try to hurt you. All I ask is that you leave Credence out of this. He has suffered enough to be pulled into this mess by you. Hurt me, if you want, punish me. But leave Credence alone.”

Gellert slowly nodded. “I shall take you by your word”, he responded, “We now have two agreements. Now where was I? Oh, right.” His wand slashed through the air and Percival screamed as a gash appeared on his shoulder, staining him with blood.

* * *

The English Transaltion of Gellert's words.

"Das verstehst du doch sicher. Ich muss ein paar Vorsichtsmaßnahmen treffen. Und Mord ist eine der effektivesten Methoden. Vor allen Dingen an einem Ort, wo du ein Niemand bist." = "You surely understand that. I have to make a few preparations for my safety. And murder is one of the most effective methods. Especially in a place where you are a nobody."

"Würde dich das glücklicher machen?" = Would this make you more happy?


End file.
